


A Part of Your World

by cassidyelaine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, First Daughter!AU, Infinity War spoilers, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Stark!Daughter, Tony Stark Has A Heart, infinity war fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassidyelaine/pseuds/cassidyelaine
Summary: So this is a work based lightly on the movie First DaughterIf you've never seen that movie, you should absolutely watch it if you have the opportunity.Peter Parker/Stark!Daughter ficRating may change depending if I'm feeling the smut route (I probably will)Expect updates once a week. They may be more frequent here at the beginning just because the story is really flowing right now. Thanks!Follow me on tumblr at fabtasticass until I get my Marvel/Marvel actors blog actually functional!





	1. Normal is Relative

_Once upon a time, there was a little girl, just like any other little girl. And like most little girls, she loved collecting beautiful things._

“Hey Jay!” she shouted in her high-pitched toddler voice, “Look at what I have,” her father’s tools gripped tightly in her chubby toddler fingers before she was swooped up and quickly rebuked, reminded once again that those tools were for grown-ups only, no matter how shiny they were. Moments later, a voice echoed down the huge hallway.

“Major, it’s time to roll out.”

_And so the little girl was sat back down and once again left to her own devices. But she wasn’t lonely. This little girl was special for more than one reason. But she had such a natural knack for creating new little novelties, seemingly out of thin air, that each new day she made something spectacular to share. In fact, she was always sharing them with her friends._

“(Y/N), where are you,” a woman’s voice called out tersely. Her high heels clicked down the hallway until the woman stood before a little girl perched on the base of an old robot assistant, with what looked to be a jumble of part and pieces placed delicately in her palm.

“Sorry miss, I was just showing E what I built today. Look!” she exclaimed as she fiddled with a few pieces before the whole thing lit up, flaring various colors, pulsing to an unknown rhythm.

“That’s very nice (Y/N), but it’s time to go, your father is finally home and I need to get you both out the door if we’re going to even have a hope of staying on schedule this time.”

A smile filled the little girls face and then slowly faded as the woman counseled her on schedules and timeliness. There was no such thing as normal father-daughter time anymore. It was just galas and public appearances and board room meeting interrupted by you falling through the vents you’d managed to sneak into yet again.

“Yes ma’am”, (Y/N) murmured, placing her hand in the woman’s and sliding to the ground.

_And then it happened. You know that awkward but typical time of life... when you feel like every eye is on you..._

Cameras flashed and the press surged in on you seemingly from all sides. It was a miracle you hadn’t developed any claustrophobia at this point.

“(Y/N), look over here,” one reporter after another screamed as they shoved cameras and phones and microphones in your face.

_That time of life when you feel like you're the main attraction in a three-ring circus. That's right. She became a teenager. But eventually, she made it through. And as she blossomed, she became more comfortable with herself._

“There she is. Hey, (Y/N). How are you doing?”

By now, she understood that this question was more rhetorical than open-ended, and she was prepared for what came next as she smoothed the silk of her dress’s bodice out before stepping up next to your father’s shoulder.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Sweetie. I'd like you to meet...” Fill in the blank with the name of your local senator, activist, CEO of a Fortune 500 company. (Y/N) had met all of them, she felt like.

_And like most teenagers, she enjoyed parties..._

The DCCC Christmas party seemed to get more extravagant every year. This year there were no less than four trees that seemed more done-up than the one she could see radiating from her bedroom window, down in Rockefeller Center. Her powder blue sheath dress flared out behind her as she followed her mother, who was draped in a grey satin concoction, through the party, playing the part of the dutiful, uninteresting daughter.

That was until a Senator’s son stole her away and whisked her off to where all the other kids had gone to shelter in place. There, in a back office, someone had smuggled booze and pizza. Being the dutiful daughter, she only indulged in a few pieces of pizza and empty chatter with those who would be her peers, if she were at all like them, before she stepped back out into the hall, in search of her parents. Overall, the best party she’d been to all month.

_And like her peers, she often felt as if her every move was scrutinized._

“Hold it right there.” Her parents’ PR coordinator called out as she was readjusted once again by a photographer, draped on a settee, between her parents.

“Big smile, (Y/N).”

_It was all smiles or nothing at all._

The TV crackled on overhead as (Y/N) plopped onto a gigantic bean bag with a bowl of popcorn in hand. The scratchy voice of the TV host was the first thing (Y/N) heard.

“Mom, promise me you would never let me leave the house looking like that.”

“Never!” the woman sitting opposite the first replied, “It looks like she found Chelsea Clinton's old crimping iron and Amy Carter's Sassoons.”

On the screen situated between the two ladies was a big picture of (Y/N) leaving her father’s office.

“It's like a terrorist got a hold of her. I don't know what's going on. But what do you think?”

“I’m thinking that even her father was better dressed after he WAS captured by terrorists. Is that insensitive to say?”

“You’re right about that. And now we’d like to hear from you at home! What is the worst outfit that you have ever seen (Y/N) wear?”

“I'll bet it's gonna be close.” “I bet it is too. There have been a lot of lousy outfits.” “If (Y/N/N) is back, get in there and clean out your kid's closet."

_But with maturity, she was able to look outside herself and appreciate the wisdom of her elders._

“And I'll tell you something,” the older woman murmured as she leaned down next to (Y/N), who had her knees pulled up to her chest on the couch, waist deep in her newsfeed. “Decades in politics give you special life skills, (Y/N). Like an excellent poker face.” At that moment, to demonstrate, the older woman’s features hardened, eyes going blank, shoulders at a right angle, giving absolutely nothing away.

“Not bad, Senator Feinstein,” (Y/N) nodding appreciatively. “Thank you for the tip.”

_In short, she grew up... happily, with the love of a father and a mother who she thought_ were _the center of the world in an old, 63-story tower situated on the 200_ block _of Park Avenue that they called home._

_But her world was changing._

On the morning of the Fourth of July, she knew that it was about to get a whole lot more complicated. (Y/N) Stark decided she wasn’t going to go to MIT or any of the small, highly coveted Ivy League schools her father’s swing and her natural intelligence would most certainly land her in. (Y/N) was going to state school. NYU, to be specific, where she hoped to blend in with her 50,000 new peers.


	2. Presidential Heels and Mom Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm too impatient to write a summary but guess what, Peter Parker exists in this chapter. Also the timelines are weird. I don't care. It's fanfic, I can do what I want, please bear with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back for more later, taking my partner to the Hozier concert.

“I’m too sober for this,” (Y/N) said, plopping down on to the horrifically springy, undressed mattress that was on top of a wooden bed frame. Her bed frame now, she firmly reminded herself. 

“You don’t even drink,” Morgan responded, a lot less winded and emotionally drained than (Y/N). She’d always admired her sister’s ability to remain unruffled in the midst of tense or new situations. And yeah, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to ditch the elevator and take the stairs to her new home for the year, all the way up on the sixteenth floor. But she couldn’t stand the feeling of brushing shoulders with what felt like hundreds of people who stared and lifted their phones to take pictures, or to see one girl turn to someone else and hit them to get their attention and not so subtly pointing to her and Morgan when they had it. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I should start,” (Y/N) answered noncommittally. She flopped down on to my future roommate’s bed right across the room. She hadn’t taken the time to read their profile as she’d been emailed it. She wanted to go into this experience blind. And yeah, with her father’s resources and connections, she could’ve known every single aspect of the mystery roommate’s life if she’d wanted to. But (Y/N) wanted to go in blind. Be a normal kid for once. Especially with Mom doing what she was right now. 

Suddenly, the door burst open behind them. Lugging in a mini fridge and two bags, Happy grunted and panted as he nudged his way inside. Morgan sat as if to help him but as soon as he saw her move to sit up he barked, “No, no stay where you’re at! I’ve got this, it’s nothing.” His red face indicated he was definitely lying. But nothing came between Happy and his pride. 

“It’s not every day,” he said, pausing to pant after setting the fridge down on the countertops, “that your goddaughter goes off to college.”

“Yeah you’re right Hap, it’s not every day that a girl is escorted to her dorm room by her family’s Forehead of Security. Or has to avoid reporters pressing their faces against their lobby windows. Or has the seclude herself until her mother and father and their Secret Service protection detail can join them, since no one was currently on ‘daughters watch’,” (Y/N) made air quotes with her fingers, grumbling about the debacle that had occurred earlier today. 

 

“I don’t trust him,” Morgan remarked from her couch as (y/n) scrambled to get everything she could possibly fathom needing in her dorm room packed into her father’s latest invention. It was basically a play on Dum-E, but with storage that the robot packed her things into itself, to maximize storage efficiency. 

“Well, of course, you don’t trust him,” (Y/N) replied, “He’s on the Bachelor. That’s like, a parade of red flags right there. 

“(Y/N),” Morgan scoffed, scandalized, her head popping up and over the back of the blue cushions, “it’s the Bachelorette, not the Bachelor, we’ve been over this. Plus, we personally know someone on this season, you should be watching!”

“I’ve seen Pietro make enough stupid decisions in my life to know that this doesn’t rank in the top three, and as such, I will not be acknowledging it.”

The sun had just barely begun to trickle in through the windows, and the watch she’d made herself showed that it was just past 6:15. Why she had procrastinated packing last minute, she couldn’t tell you. Maybe it just felt like the end of something fragile. Or whatever. Her watch caught the first true rays of sunlight and bounced refracted light straight into her eyes. (Y/N) winced but paused to admire her creation. The main metal straddled a fine line between her father’s favored cherry red, and the more toned down rose gold that was all the rage just a few year’s ago. Accented along the outside of the watch frame were little webbings of ice blue, too intentional to be called marbling but too non-descript to look like a spider’s web. Every other accent on the watch was a pearly white. 

All of a sudden, Morgan’s phone started blaring the most awful noises she’d ever heard, causing (Y/N) to jump what felt like five feet in the air. She could hear Happy’s exasperated voice shouting into his receiver even halfway across the room. It seemed that she and Morgan were late for fittings and makeup for an impromptu morning press junket. 

Those were happening more and more frequently these days, ever since her mother resigned as CEO of her father’s company, relegating it back to him, which he handled begrudgingly, and running for the US Senate. That was ten years ago. Now, her mother, Pepper, was the current frontrunner for the presidency. As if her life wasn’t high-profile enough as one of two daughter’s of the most powerful couple in the world probably.

It seemed that, due to Pepper’s skillful negotiation tactics, dozens of political prisoners were being released back to the United States today. And that meant the mother of all press conferences. On the day that she was moving into her new home for the next several months.

(Y/N) and Morgan were then harried about to get ready by FRIDAY, and AI program her father had invented long ago, in the form of the original JARVIS. Unfortunately, his coding and learned personality were lost when an earthquake struck southern California and shook the Malibu mansion off its cliffside seat and into the murky depths below. Okay, that may be a bit dramatic, but sue her, something needed to spice up the story of life in perpetually sunny SoCal. 

Within thirty minutes she and her sister were presentable and ready to head down to where Happy was waiting in the car. 

And to make a long story short, (Y/N) had managed to not only nearly knock down the lectern on the stage where her mother would be speaking shortly, but in the fall, she twisted her ankle all the way around. Nothing was broken, campaign medical staff had assured her, but any dummy would know that that footage was right then being broadcast on every phone, StarkTech or otherwise, throughout the nation. So in reality, her ego was bruised and battered more than her ankle was. 

What got to her the most, though, was her constant characterization as cold and unfriendly. Of course, the reputation was probably well deserved, as she’d spat in a reporter’s face when she was just fifteen years old. But over time, she’d learned how to stop engaging, how to tamp down her temper. She’d learned that, when her mother was that age, she was quite the spitfire herself. Aunt Peggy would always tattle on her. 

So it stung to know that she’d made progress in order to become a more ‘press-perfect’ daughter, just for them to turn around and make jokes about the stick up her ass or that she’d been replaced by an android of her father’s own creation. 

And now here they were, hours later, as her mom had to make one last campaign stop before taking the presidential shoes off and trading them for her mom sneakers. 

“...I’ll just uh… go get more of the bags from the car then,” Happy stammered, quickly excusing himself from the room. 

Silence, comfortable and relaxing silence, filled the space between (Y/N) and Morgan. Of course, you could still hear the bustle of the New York streets below, but her floor seemed to be deserted. 

(Y/N)’s eyelids began to droop, growing heavy after such an early morning, but she was abruptly shaken awake by a crashing sound outside her door, that only got louder as the door swung open. 

In tumbled a brunette boy with wavy-ish hair and a toothy grin-turned-grimace. His hands were full of what looked like salvaged electronic parts. “Sorry about the noise,” he gasped out between breaths, “I didn’t want to make more than one trip and it seems I overestimated my grip. 

Behind him wheeled in a huge suitcase. A few steps after that and an older lady stepped inside. His mother, (Y/N) assumed. Standing up from her spot on her unmade bed, she approached the woman, asking if she needed a hand. She was swiftly turned down and told to relax but (Y/N) didn’t miss the flare of recognition in the woman’s eyes as she put two and two together. 

(Y/N) quickly spun around as the boy dumped all of the metal pieces and wires on to his desk before turning to face her and sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Peter. Peter Parker. What’s your name?”

(Y/N) grinned back. She hadn’t had to introduce herself in a long time. But something nagged her from the back of her mind. Peter Parker sounded awfully familiar.


End file.
